


A Crash Course in Scarlet

by CakeAndWhiskey



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, M/M, Slow Burn, Smoking, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-06 14:18:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17941301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CakeAndWhiskey/pseuds/CakeAndWhiskey
Summary: It all seemed like a fabulous idea when she was sitting in a fast-food parking lot in a Toyota Corolla that had fresh bullet holes.Now bumbling through Japan, she was more lost and depressed than ever. One way or the other she was going to find her friend.





	1. Chapter 1

I think that I was suffering my third mental breakdown at this point. Alone in a foreign country, sitting outside on a bench and stuffing my face full of various vending machine snacks was a new low in my misguided but well meaning life.

I was already lost before I went to Japan, having made the choice after chain smoking and binging on curly fries in a near state of shock. Sitting in a fast-food parking lot in a Toyota Corolla that had fresh bullet holes all through the drivers side of the car and a smashed out rear window. I may have looked more like a proper ‘mental breakdown’ at that moment but I was feeling a thousand times more broken now. I could still see the glimmer of hope and self-rebirth when I was sipping on a shake then but everything felt bleak and empty now, even when surrounded by so much life.

Daylight was fading, the city starting to light up like a mockery of the stars. My meager supply of snacks were almost gone. I was very stiff from sitting for so long, one leg tingling from sleep I joined the masses of people walking and did my best to keep up with the pack. I had been hotel hopping since I landed almost a week ago, no real destination or plan. The instant healing and vision of finding myself did not miraculously strike me when I ambled off of the plane. With legs and feet fully awake and the former stiffness gone I pulled away from the pack and stood outside of hotel I had passed earlier, pulling out a notebook that was full of English to Japanese phrases and words. 

About to enter past the doorman I opened the notebook and started to look for the ‘check in' page and froze for a moment right next to him with a fresh batch of tears just ready to fall. He was smiling and saying something but all I could do was sniffle and give a pathetic nod. I must have looked something wicked because he lost his smile and gave a small bow as I recovered and went in.

Angry at everything I flipped the notebooks pages over and found the one I made for hotels. As I looked it over trying to get a hold of myself all I could see in my mind was the first line of the page that I accidentally opened to. 

“I am trying to find my friend” 

It was still too confusing and fucking painful. I blinked away the tears and bit the inside of my cheeks.

Check in was fairly smooth and fast, much easier than the first time last week (I won't be going back to the first hotel, don't want to relive that embarrassment). I only had my one bag and after chucking it onto the bed it was close enough to being unpacked that I felt justified in flopping next to it, staring at the ceiling without really seeing it. 

I have been through a lot by most standards. Made it though childhood in a broken home, watched people I loved cripple themselves with various addictions. Felt firsthand the pain of gun violence and gang activity. Rebuilt myself, made myself better. Wanted to be a force for good. 

I worked one of every job to keep my independence. Studied like my life depended upon it. But being my best was never going to get me out of my social standing. I joined the military when the ink was still fresh on my high school diploma. Paycheck, training, healthcare, doing good. 

After four years I left with crunchy knees, mild hearing damage, memories of combat and an honorable discharge. Combat was not suited for me but being a civilian again was just not working; great with a rifle does not transfer well onto a resume . 

Drunk me on a friends couch got the idea to look into working for the FBI with dubious inspiration (I want to believe). Hungover me still thought that the FBI sounded pretty snazzy. Sober me found out that I only had a month to kill before being old enough to apply as an agent. Almost having some idea of what I wanted in life I pulled myself together, trained, studied and mastered the examinations. Passed the psychological tests and became a proud agent of the FBI with high reviews from my prior work for the country. 

The ceiling light was starting to bother my unseeing eyes and I pulled myself up to a sitting position. Without really thinking of what I was doing I opened my old rucksack and took out a bottle of whiskey from my earlier travels. Swigging from the bottle in silence felt as hollow as I did. After a liberal amount of whiskey I started to dig in the bag for another snack but instead found my notebook. 

The tears fell instantly and all I could do was sob and white knuckle the bottle I was holding. I had come so far to find my friend.

I just wanted to talk to Naomi again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting in gear.

I woke up still dressed using the rucksack as a pillow, sprawled across the bed. Eyes open but still unseeing at the ceiling. Bleak, bloodshot and blank. Getting into an upright position took longer than it probably should have.

A dull but steady pain was ringing in my left temple and my stomach was a hollow kind of empty. 

After great effort I left the bed and shuffled into the bathroom. Japanese technology was aggravating to a prideful novice at the best of times but hungover and hungry was a new form of torture. Several failed attempts, much swearing and some blasphemy later I was showered and almost fully awake. 

The hotel robes were fabulous, fluffy and pocketed. Plush enough to absorb the drips from my hair even. I was standing staring at the bed wondering if I could fit a robe in the rucksack when the dire need for healthy, non-vending machine food became apparent.

With a rumbling gut, large wallet and depressive state that I was attempting to fill, I placed a very long and confusing order with room service and dumped the rucksack out on the bed. Important notes and newspaper clippings were mixed with wrappers, rolled up clothing, a Swiss Army knife, can of bear mace and a few make up bags with helpful odds and ends. 

I was still in the robe when breakfast arrived and I ate while I paced around the bed. I needed a game plan. I needed to get refocused. I needed to get in gear. 

“Alright. Gather data. Observe the locations. Make a tactical plan. Kick ass,” I clapped my hands and rolled my shoulders but I heard how uncertain my own voice was. 

No longer hungry and far less hungover, I organized everything from on top of the bed and reluctantly got dressed and presentable. I started going through the pile of paperwork putting it into the correct timeline across the small table;

‘ICPO Encourages Further Investigation Into Recent Deaths'

‘Death on Live Television Broadcast Has Pubic Divided Between Hoax or Murder’

‘Internet Rumors Swirl About Mysterious Figure Kira'

‘Shocking Hostage Situation Ends in Criminals’ Death'

‘Transportation Company Assures Public of Safety’

Then I placed a Christmas card, still in the envelope. I could feel my eyes just beginning to burn and my nose start that uncomfortable tingly feeling that kicks in right before it begins to drip and run. ‘Mr. and Mrs. Penber'

“God damn this.” I hissed. 

I slammed my eyes shut, tears squeaking out just a bit. I have spiraled enough to know that I was losing my emotional grip. When you are trained to kill, you have no time and no place for sadness or grief. If you are to have an emotion than it better be rage or anger. No time for empathy. Just fury and logic. 

“I would have been the best fucking bridesmaid ever.” 

I could keep working but I couldn't bring myself to open the festive red and green envelope. Inside is a beautiful handmade card, full of well wishes and exciting future news of traveling to meet family and looking for the right neighborhood to buy a house in. Nagging to keep my schedule open during all of June so there was no way I could miss the bachelorette party or bridal shower. An adorable photo of both of them from when they were on vacation. And worst of all the promise of getting together at the end of January. 

As loudly as I could I shuffled through more papers and satisfyingly threw a three ring binder onto the ground. I found another envelope, this one certified and laid it out with a slap. It had my current address, several stamps and the initials N.M. in the top corner. Inside was a hastily written account of events, a heart breaking request for help and some of the newspaper clips I had been laying out. 

Adding a notebook next in line, I sniffled and rubbed my nose with my hand. It was the unorganized notes I had taken while talking with old friends and coworkers, progressively getting more obliterated in a pub. The bonds that we made together between training and duty were cemented. Some agents may only drop a line once every year or so but we always had each others backs. When several agents call you during the same night, it is the heralding of a tragedy.

I had been stateside sitting in an Irish themed pub when my phone started to vibrate along the bar top. There was still some leftover holiday decorations up and the place was mostly empty. I ignored the first two calls and finished my beer before getting up to have a smoke outback. A quarter through my cigarette the phone received another call. This time I answered and found out about the deaths of some of my former colleges and friends. Rumors were traveling from department to department and all night I drank, smoked and scribbled down everything in a notebook the bartender gave me that had drink recipes transcribed in the front. It went from whiskey sours to myocardial infarction. I went into overtime the next day, planning to travel while staking out a target. It might not have been smooth and my car is junk now but it got the job done. 

I sniffled again and placed my ticket stubs from the flight and a pad of paper from the first hotel I visited next in line. So much for the new year party. Instead of champagne and maybe a smooch, I got jet lag and resorted to stealing hotel stationery. This was full of notes about locations of interest and how to get to them; where the bus to Space Land was taken under hostage, where Raye was found dead, the hotel that Raye and Naomi were staying at and a dozen other areas. 

I looked over at the next piece of the puzzle and could no longer sit in the functional chair and paced some more about the comfortable yet tastefully cozy hotel room. After several more laps around the room, the tempting idea to put the fluffy robe back on and some deep breathing, I added a small hardcover moleskin notebook. All the notes and exchanges between myself and Naomi's family about her disappearance.   
I finished speaking with all of them midday yesterday. The pain and concern that they showed was crippling and consuming. They know how resilient and steadfast Naomi is. She would never take her own life as was suggested by the police, she would never run away and hide from everyone. Naomi would never vanish before Raye's funeral service that was coming up in just a few days back in the US.

A knock on the door jumped me and I am sure that it was evident that I had been fighting to not cry off and on for most of the morning to the cleaning staff that was entering to complete their work. I grabbed my jacket and excused myself out, blushing and wiping at my nose. I rushed out partly because I didn't want to be in the way and partly because I was sick of this mystery and the terrible feelings it left. 

It was about time I visited the bus station the police station, the subway and maybe did some retail therapy for myself, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> It has been forever since I dabbled in typing anything, please forgive any obvious errors. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, I do hope you enjoyed. I know it is just a short start but plenty has been worked out in my head. Just have a wee bit of faith in me. 
> 
> I neglected to fill out the relationship tag for now, since it really has not come up. I have tagged characters that will enter into the mix very soon. 
> 
> I will update tags as this wip gets some more steam. 
> 
> Thank you again humble reader. Any and all input will literally sustain my mortal existence.


End file.
